It's a Cold and It's a Broken Hallelujah
by sparrowlove
Summary: Semi AU. It's based on the idea of post-virus NYC, but I took a lot of liberties with the characters, who lives and stuff. Based on the Leonard Cohen song "Hallelujah." ElleNoah, NikiNathan, MattJanice, SylarMohinder, ClaireWest, Peter, Micah, Monica...


I've heard there was a secret chord

_I've heard there was a secret chord_

_That David played, and it pleased the Lord_

_But you don't really care for music, do you?_

_It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth_

_The minor fall, the major lift_

_The baffled king composing, hallelujah_

He treated her like an annoying child sometimes. Well, a lot of the time, actually. She knew it was because his wife has just died a few weeks ago, he still wasn't over her, so it was much easier to pretend that he was taking care of a girl closer to his daughter's age than his own, not that he liked her. Not that he maybe had a new girlfriend. The word sounded so juvenile. A girlfriend who was most likely certifiably insane, no less.

Noah Bennet kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road as he drove slowly down the debris covered street. Elle, in the passenger's seat, flipped incessantly through the radio stations, looking for something, anything with music; not just news, news, news. News about the death, news about the destruction, news about the end of the world, maybe. She finally found and settled on a hip-hop station. Bennet turned it off as soon as Elle moved her hand from the dials.

"You don't like music?" she asked.

"That's not music."

"It's better than silence."

Bennet didn't answer. Elle looked out the window, sorry to be music-less on the long ride, but happy, at least, not to be alone.

_Your faith was strong but you needed proof_

_You saw her bathing on the roof_

_Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_

_She tied you to a kitchen chair, she broke your throne _

_She cut your hair, and from your lips she drew the hallelujah_

He saw her standing in the middle of the street. If things had been like the old days, she would've been a bug on a windshield, flattened by a thousand passing cars. But no cars passed any more. So she stood, and he watched her, called to her. She turned and walked towards him, past him, unseeing. He followed her, up the stairs, up the stairs, onto the roof. She tried to jump. He grabbed her.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"Nathan Petrelli," she said, eyes wide. He let go of her before he replied, but before he could get her name out of his mouth, she had jumped.

"Of course," he muttered sarcastically, and stepped off the roof after her. Once they were both safely on the ground, his arms around her, her struggling against him, he asked her the question again.

"I lost my son. I can't find him. I can't deal with it. I'm a coward," she replied.

"Join the club. But jumping off a building? Who do you think you are, my brother?"

She looked at him incredulously. "You're making a joke?"

Nathan was embarrassed. He shrugged. "I don't know."

Niki replied, "Does anyone?"

"Anyone what?"

"Know?"

"Know what?"

"Anything?"

"Not anymore."

_Maybe I've been here before_

_I know this room, I've walked this floor_

_I used to life alone before I knew you_

_I've seen your flag on the marble arch_

_Love is not a victory march_

_It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

"We could try again."

Her words shocked him. They'd been sitting at the table for nearly three hours. It was hard to think about divorce proceedings after the virus, but life had to go on for those left alive.

"What do you mean?" Matt asked his wife.

"Just that..." she trailed off, then found her words and started again. "Just that maybe its better not to be alone now, maybe we can make things work just so that we are together. We made things work once; maybe we can do it again."

"Maybe," Matt sounded unsure. He looked out at the wasteland outside the window. The trees had been affected, and stood dead against the gray sky. He looked back at his wife, warm and soft, with rosy cheeks and pleading eyes. "Maybe," he said, more confidently. "Maybe."

_There was a time you let me know_

_What's real and going on below?_

_But now you never show it to me, do you?_

_And remember when I moved in you_

_The holy dove was moving too_

_And every breath we drew was hallelujah_

The man on the bed's labored breath was loud and echoed throughout the room. Each gasp of oxygen he sucked in was an effort and left him coughing and nearly gagging. He pressed a sleeve to his mouth and when he pulled it away, it was spattered with blood.

The other man in the world watched with concern. Mohinder stood up from the chair by the bed and brought a glass of water from the sink in the kitchen. The man in the bed tried to drink it, but some spilled out and droplets of water rolled down his face like tears. The man in the bed was no longer Sylar. His personality had diminished along with his physical strength.

When Mohinder had found him in the street, shivering from illness, he had said something dramatic like "So we meet again, Sylar." It sounded ridiculous even to his own ears. And the man had replied, "Please... call me Gabriel." And Mohinder did.

"How are you feeling?" Mohinder asked.

"What's going to happen to me?"

"I think you know that," Mohinder replied quietly. "You've seen other people with this virus. You should try to get some sleep though, keep up your strength."

Gabriel nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment and then coughed again. Without thinking, Mohinder reached for his hand. Their hands connected, and the sick man's breathing slowed as he lapsed into sleep, squeezing Mohinder's hand tight. Mohinder watched him, what the future would bring.

_You say I took the name in vain_

_I don't even know the name_

_But if I did, well really, what's it to you?_

_There's a blaze of light in every word_

_It doesn't matter which you heard_

_The holy or the broken hallelujah_

"Maybe Los Angeles."

"Micah, we can't just search the country for your mom. I mean, I know you want to find her. I want to find her too. But the virus is out there, we don't want to get exposed to it."

"I don't just want to find her. I have to find her."

"What if we can't? I mean, what if she's..."

"Don't say that. She's not dead. She's not."

"Alright then, what do you propose we do?"

"I don't... Wait, I know a girl who can find people."

"And you can find her?"

"I think so. I think she's in New York."

"Maybe she left."

"Maybe she hasn't, Monica"

"Well, then, I guess we're going to New York."

_I did my best, it wasn't much_

_I couldn't feel so I tried to touch_

_I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you_

_And even though it all went wrong_

_I'll stand before the lord of song_

_With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah_

Claire and West sat once again on the top of the Hollywood sign. It was a good place to watch the world without the world watching them. Claire thought about her family, her mom and dad and her biological mom and dad and her uncle and her brother and even Mr. Muggles. West thought about Claire. He put his arm around her and she moved closer to him.

They didn't speak for a long time. Finally, West asked what Claire wanted to do next. "We should probably try to find people we know, if there are any left," Claire replied.

"Where, at home?"

"I can't go back there," Claire said. "Let's go to New York."

"Why New York?"

"That's where the Petrellis live. Peter, and my biological dad."

"I thought your biological dad got assassinated? I saw it on TV."

"He didn't die."

"Are you sure they'll be there?"

"No."

"So we're going to travel the country looking for people who might not be alive even?"

"Have you got a better idea?" Claire demanded. "If you don't want to come, I'll go myself." She started to walk away.

"I didn't mean that," West called, catching up to her. "I didn't, I'm sorry. Let's go." Claire looked at him and he smiled hopefully. She put her head against his shoulder and he gathered her in his arms. They flew together as the sun rose above the polluted world.

_Maybe there's a God above_

_And all I ever learned from love_

_Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you_

_And it's not a cry you can hear at night_

_It's not somebody who's seen the light_

_It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah_

Peter wasn't sure where he was when he woke up. He knew he wasn't dead. He knew he wasn't in his bed. And that was about it. He stood up. The air was cold and felt as though it was about to rain. He was in an alley, so he walked to the corner and looked out. It looked like New York City, but Peter had never seen any New York street looking so empty.

He began to travel down the street, looking for a familiar face. Even an unfamiliar one. Occasionally, he saw people peering at him from behind doors or through windows, but when he called to them or moved towards them, they retreated back into their dark houses. He wondered if they knew about his powers. He wondered if they blamed him for what had happened. He didn't mind. He looked for someone to blame too, even if it was himself. He wanted revenge. Even if it was revenge on himself.

The wind whipped around him as he passed streets and buildings. From somewhere in the distance, he heard a scream that abruptly cut off, and the sound of machine-gun fire. And everywhere, everywhere, he felt despair. He had never been so alone. In the distance, far in the distance, he saw a man in a blue coat that he seemed to recognize. He began to run.

_Hallelujah, hallelujah_

_Hallelujah... hallelujah..._


End file.
